Cruise
by BeyondCanon
Summary: [Prompt Challenge] Brittany works for a cruise line. Santana's dragged to a lesbian cruise to properly rebound from her latest breakup. [Brittana, Faberry, and porn.]
1. Cruise

A result of my** prompt challenge** on Tumblr.

**Important!** There will be Brittana and Faberry chapters, built independently so you can skip the Faberry if it's not your thing.

LOTS OF SEX, too. Definitely NSFW.

* * *

**CRUISE**

Whoever gets sober first loses.

That's the bet.

If Santana is going to be on a cruise, she better be fucking wasted from the moment she steps in to the moment she leaves.

Cruises are a fucking retarded idea. Being stuck on a ship for weeks? It's like a party with no way out: a living, breathing nightmare.

"Stop being so grumpy," Quinn tells her, shoving another beer in her hand. "You're still sober".

Santana scoffs. "I am not. This is beer number six."

"Well, I'm on number eight, so you're losing." Quinn smirks, and Santana knows that bitch is right.

They're _so_ going to have liver issues when they're done.

—

It starts with a bang.

She gets into the boat with the perfect amount of alcohol in her blood — she's funny, she's laughing, she's dizzy, she's desirable, she's on top of the world — and there are lesbians everywhere.

All kinds of lesbians. Thousands of lesbians. Tall lesbians and short lesbians and Asian American lesbians and African American lesbians and tough lesbians and girly lesbians and kinky lesbians and cute lesbians and skinny lesbians and curvy lesbians.

Lesbians.

Quinn laughs at Santana's expression. "I told you so!"

"This is like a hunting party," Santana whispers to her.

"Go for it. Take your pick. Dani can go fuck herself." Quinn is very categorical when she drinks.

Her suitcase hasn't even arrived to her cabin when she gets her first telephone number and her first make out session.

—

There's a pool.

Santana hangs out by the motherfucking pool with a mojito in hand, like the motherfucking boss she is.

Quinn, on the deckchair by her side, has got a brunette straddling her lap and kissing the daylights out of her.

For someone who was "definitely not gay!", girl was enjoying herself.

A woman sits by Santana's side and starts chatting. She's beautiful: big, curly hair, dark lipstick, and a decisive stare at Santana's abs. This is going to be good.

A blonde passes by, wearing the white and green shirt characteristic from the cruise's staff and a pair of shorts close to indecent, strong thighs and longs legs for everyone to see.

Santana makes a mental note to remember the blonde before turning again to the woman by her side and grabbing another mojito.

—

The first party is packed.

Santana can barely remember who Dani is, let alone being cheated on and kicking that treacherous devil woman out of her apartment.

She's dancing with Quinn to some sick remixes, and they're sticking to water for the moment because they don't want to _die_ on their second day.

Quinn grinds against her, and she's got her hand on Quinn's stomach, guiding their movements.

Santana loves how women stare at them both, either desiring or envying. She finishes her bottle of water and pulls Quinn by the hand to the bar, because it's time they shifted to the big girl drinks again.

The blonde is there. This time with a strong, dark makeup and wearing a dress that leaves very little for imagination. Santana licks her lips.

"Nice shirt," the blonde tells her with an amused look.

Santana smiles. The "I'm the girl your parents warned you about" never gets old. She takes a nice, long look at the blonde. "Nice dress."

"Thanks," she answers with a small laugh.

Quinn interrupts them to ask for two Island Oasis drinks. Santana stares as the blonde mixes them, entranced by those strong, promising arms.

—

Santana doesn't feel so good.

She should have stopped three martinis ago.

Her stomach grumbles and revolts against her new alcoholic diet; her heads hurts, and she's on a motherfucking boat.

There's no escape.

She can't go to her room. Quinn is there with some girl, and she still has over one hour before her time is up.

Santana's best hope is to throw up on the sea and not die.

There's no one on this side of the boat, this long, dark outer corridor Santana has no idea how she ended up in. Oh, Jesus. What if she dies? What if she dies while Quinn is banging a random woman and there is no one to save her?

Sweet Mary, mother of God. She's going to die choking in her own vomit.

Someone shows up behind her. "Are you okay?"

Santana remains hunched over, facing the ocean. "No. I drank too much."

It's the blonde. She touches Santana's shoulder. "Do you want me to take you to your cabin?"

"God, no." Santana waves her off. "My friend is…" She clears her throat. "It's busy."

The blonde looks worried. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Don't ma'am me," Santana scoffs. "I'm too drunk for that shit. Call me Santana."

The blonde smiles. "Santana, I'm Brittany. Why don't we sit down for a while and I grab a cold towel to put on your head?"

That sounds reasonable.

Apparently there's a veranda with a bench. Brittany holds Santana's waist until she sits on it.

"Thank you," Santana says quietly.

Brittany touches Santana's clammy forehead. "No biggie. Be right back."

Santana nods. "Don't take too long."

Girl must be catwoman, because Santana closes her eyes for a small little second and Brittany is already back.

"Cold towels are the best," Santana moans. "You're the bestest, though."

Brittany laughs.

Santana's entire body feels heavy, so she rests against Brittany's side for a while.

Just a little while. She's gonna close her eyes for a little tiny bitsy bit.

—

"Motherf—" She wakes up at once and sits up.

Her head hurts like a bitch and her mouth feels like dry cotton. "Motherfucker," she says, moaning and throwing herself back on the bed.

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn groans and pushes Santana's shoulder.

She grabs her sacred hangover kit and a water bottle. "How did I get here?"

"The fuck I know." Quinn rolls to the other side. "Some girl carried you in."

Shit. "Were you…?"

Quinn's voice is still coarse with sleep, and she barely answers. "I was done. We're cool."

Santana gulps the water. "…did I?"

Quinn grabs the bottle from Santana's hand. "No vomit, no disgusting shit."

Santana nods. Could have been a lot worse.

—

It's mandatory they have a spa morning, each with a Bloody Mary in hand.

She _deserves_ all those pretty girls massaging her body, applying beauty products on her face and complimenting her skin.

This is the life.

—

Santana knows she's got to apologize.

It's in her code: if you're being a lame-ass drunk, you apologize and do something nice for your poor victim.

She's got to find this Brittany girl and do something nice.

But what?

—

Santana and Quinn arrive to their dance lesson fresh like fucking daisies, sipping their margueritas.

"I've had… the time of my life" is playing. Santana and Quinn exchange a look of "this gonna be good".

No, it is going to be _great_.

Brittany is there, already dancing with the other instructor. They throw each other around, crawl towards each other, almost lick each other's faces.

Damn.

They stop when enough couples have arrived so they can introduce themselves: Brittany and Tina, here to teach whatever hits their fancy.

Brittany keeps looking at Santana, the kind of come-hither-come-to-mama look.

Santana licks her lips.

—

Santana offers herself for the first demonstration, of course.

Brittany takes her hand and holds them in position.

_Sway_ begins to play. Classy.

Brittany looks right in her eyes as she takes them across the dance floor.

Santana can dance as long as the gentleman could lead; Brittany is the perfect gentleman. Keeping them both close and distant, keeping her in position, signaling every step and every turn perfectly.

"I'm sorry," Santana sighs.

"For what?" Brittany teases, the hint of a smirk on her lips.

"Being lame yesterday." Santana does the forward-backward steps and Brittany pulls her back. "I'm cooler than that."

"Oh, I think you're cool enough," Brittany whispers on her ear.

Santana can practically hear her own panties dropping.

—

Brittany not always chooses Santana as a dance partner, which is frustrating.

Santana needs to be grinding against her as soon as possible.

—

She goes through every pamphlet of every possible activity in that boat until she finds her pot of gold: the Urban Club's first DJ that night will be no one less than Brittany Pierce.

Now that's what she's talking about.

—

"Santana, you're _fine_," Quinn says as soon as Santana steps out of the bathroom. "I'd bang you right now."

She knows she's gorgeous. She doesn't spend so much time in the gym for nothing. She does it so when she puts on the tightest, most delicious dress she owns, she can walk around like she owns the place.

Quinn continues to apply her own makeup. "And why the Lucky Dress?"

Santana applies another layer of red lipstick. "I need an extra push."

"You do know there's probably a rule about people who work in this cruise not being able to hook up with guests, don't you?" Quinn raises an eyebrow.

Santana shrugs, placing the lipstick back on the stand. "I have zero fucks to give."

Santana Lopez is a fucking predator.

—

Of course Brittany sees her from the DJ booth.

She's three tequila shots and two beers in, and she's the hottest piece of ass there. She knows how to shake her booty.

She's turned down four different women so far, and she's going to keep doing it until Brittany decides to take action.

It doesn't mean she can't play a little with them, though.

—

When Brittany's set is up she gestures to Santana to go outside.

Smiling, Santana follows.

Quinn's already making out with some brunette, anyway.

Brittany walks always a few steps ahead. Santana doesn't complain, because she can stare at that fine ass in those fine jeans.

She takes Santana to a dark and deserted outer deck, where there seems to be a party half-prepared – maybe tomorrow's Mexican extravaganza will be there.

She likes this.

Brittany leans against a wall; the wind blows her hair around a bit. She gestures for Santana to come closer.

Santana does as told.

Brittany grabs her waist and pulls them flush against each other. "You put on that little show just to throw me off my balance, didn't you?"

Sweet baby Jesus, that woman means business.

"I did," Santana answers, holding her breath when Brittany's lips graze her neck. "It's a very effective tactic."

"You don't know what you're getting into," Brittany answers, low and raspy, before placing wet kisses down Santana's neck.

This is better than expected.

Santana presses Brittany harder against the wall and kisses her fully, all teeth and bite. Brittany moans, leaning her waist forward and opening her legs so Santana can stand right between them.

Santana grabs Brittany's long hair and pulls, biting Brittany's lower lip, her body undulating in all the right ways.

The sound of someone walking nearby makes them stop.

The sounds grow distant.

They look at each other, still very much tangled.

"If anyone asks, this never happened." Brittany whispers on Santana's ear before turning them around and sandwiching Santana to the wall.

Santana kisses Brittany's collarbone slow and wet. "I don't kiss and tell."

Brittany holds Santana's hands up against the wall with one hand, exploring Santana's body with the other. "Good."

This is new. Santana licks her lips in anticipation.

She cups Santana's breast, pinching her hardened nipple over her dress. Santana's arches her body, pressing down on Brittany's thigh.

"No bra." Brittany says, biting her lip. "I like it." She moves her thigh until it's rubbing perfectly against Santana.

Oh God. Santana lets out a breathy moan.

"Ride me," she commands. Santana obeys, trying to get as much friction as possible. "Show me you want it."

She rides Brittany's thigh until her legs hurt, her head thrown back, her lips parted. She rides it until her dress goes up and her clit aches.

She's soaking her dress. "You should see for yourself."

Brittany smiles and lets go of Santana's hands. Whining in relief and frustration, she pulls Brittany for a kiss, tongue entering Brittany's mouth.

Brittany sucks on her tongue, hand pulling Santana's dress up. "No panties. You really are the girl for me."

She bites Brittany's lip when Brittany runs two fingers over her folds. "Just fuck me already."

It's sudden and wet and she whines when Brittany enters three fingers at once, breathing on her neck. "Like this? Can you take it, Santana?"

"God, yes." The way she says Santana's name is both sexy and provocative, but Santana wants more. "Fuck me."

Brittany flicks her wrist and begins to move in and out, and Santana's never been this full, this willing, this submissive.

She stops holding back, moaning Brittany's name shameless as Brittany thrusts deep and hard.

Brittany groans on her ear, pinning her against the wall harder. "You're so tight. Fuck."

She holds on to Brittany's shoulders, her legs too weak to support her. She's stretched, throbbing, begging Brittany to continue, to never stop, to fuck her all night.

Fuck, she'll do anything Brittany ever asks if she fucks her like that every time.

"Don't worry." Brittany wraps an arm around her, changing the angle and going deeper. "I'll fuck you as many times you want, Santana."

Brittany's thumb hits Santana's clit for the first time and it sends a jolt of energy she isn't expecting.

She bites Brittany's shoulder, pulling her hair and panting faster every time Brittany hits her sensitive spot, her release building up uncontrollably.

Brittany bites her ear. "Are you going to come for me?"

She nods as it hits her, her entire body shaking, Brittany's perfume permanently fixed on her memory as her thrusts make her orgasm longer and longer.

"We need to do this again," Santana says, breathless, her legs numb and her head dizzy. "Soon."

Brittany kisses the spot beneath Santana's ear. "We are not finished."


	2. Continued

**Important:** Brittana chapter, again!

**This is not a multichapter.** Consider each chapter a one-shot in itself, glimpses of the same verse. I suggest you subscribe! Who knows when I might add more to this porn fest. ;)

* * *

**CONTINUED**

The worst thing was that Quinn had told her so.

Dani was trouble, she said.

Santana just ignored her, because Dani had beautiful eyes and that charm, that entrancing way to talk.

Santana had a thing for artists, and Dani fit right in.

—

Mexico in one word? Body shots.

Mexican girls' bellybuttons, making out with them in the ladies bathroom afterwards, going for a dive with Quinn because it's fucking hot, more body shots, more kissing.

This is glorious.

She hasn't been sober in three days and she couldn't be happier.

Fuck Dani.

The remains of lime on her lip feels sharp and delicious. "You should have said just "let's get wasted". I'd agree on the spot."

Quinn licks the traces of salt on her upper lip. "I like proving you wrong." She looks at her watch. "So what are the plans?"

"We still have time." Santana takes a bite of her sandwich and sips her sangria. "But I say we go back to the ship and take a shower."

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Where your blond lover waits?"

"There are plenty of other women, you know," Santana says, "and they all want a piece of me."

She doesn't say she could barely walk when Brittany was done with her.

She doesn't say she feels herself tingle just to think about it.

—

The first time she saw Dani was at a bar.

She was there with Quinn because it was Friday, right after work, and they _deserved_ a drink.

Quinn had officially become a fifth-year associate at her law firm, and becoming partner was very much within her grasp.

That meant Quinn was buying, of course. Santana didn't have the money for that shit.

She was a little tipsy when she approached Dani. She still got herself a date.

—

She's not going to run to Brittany, though.

Santana doesn't beg.

She might have bought a gift, though.

—

Dani was like a tornado.

Sex was loud and steamy and very satisfying, but they were fighting all the time and Dani couldn't stop flirting with other women.

She didn't understand when Santana had to work late hours, but what did she expect from a startup? Santana was building something from scratch, trying to make money along the way.

Dani was fascinating and stubbornly demanding, at the same time.

She was making Santana mad, bit by bit, and Santana could not avoid it.

—

She's still amazed by the concept of a swim up bar.

She's in a pool, but she's also getting drinks. She doesn't need to leave the pool to get another drink. She can stay there forever.

And there's this Asian American who manages to be shorter than Santana, who's a doctor, and Santana has a thing for doctors.

Doctors are sexy.

She presses this girl against the side of the pool as they kiss, open mouthed and wet.

Her head is dizzy with three martinis, and she feels great.

She thinks she sees Brittany passing by, but she doesn't stop.

—

She moved in with Dani.

Or, better said, Dani moved in with her.

She couldn't afford her rent, so she'd stay there a couple weeks until she found somewhere better.

Santana was madly in love with her, so she said yes.

Quinn stopped dropping by, because she and Dani hated each other.

Dani used to wake her up with small kisses on her neck and morning sex. Girl had a talented tongue, so Santana didn't really hurry her to leave.

—

Quinn is exercising her bedroom rights, again.

Is that girl sure she isn't a lesbian? She sure is enthusiastic about her carpet munching and lesbian cruises.

Santana drinks a cup of coffee – Mexican coffee because that shit is fresh – and hangs out at the cafe.

She is showered, properly medicated, and fresh out of the beauty salon. She's ready for round two.

She sends Brittany a message.

Brittany tells her to be on the Sky Deck in an hour.

—

Santana knew she had a temper, but she only discovered the limits of it when she caught Dani with another woman.

She couldn't fight, she couldn't tear that other girl apart like she'd normally do.

She cried. She screamed.

Dani begged for forgiveness and followed her to their apartment, her voice so smooth and pleading.

Santana locked herself in the bathroom and managed to call Quinn.

Quinn yelled and kicked Dani out, pulling her by the jacket into the street. Quinn knocked on the bathroom door softly, hugged Santana and put her to bed.

For three days, she brought Santana food and made sure she was okay.

On the fourth day, Santana's company got a big fat contract in their hands.

The scent of money took her out of bed in a heartbeat, and she threw herself at her work.

—

It's the third girl who stares at Santana's V neck.

She doesn't engage with them. She can't be distracted.

Brittany is half an hour late and Santana isn't even mad.

She's just horny.

Brittany shows up in baggy yoga pants and the cruise's shirt and doesn't tell Santana anything. Santana licks her lips and follows her through corridors she didn't know existed.

Her heart is racing when Brittany finally enters a room.

It's like a deposit, with tables and random objects scattered around.

There's a very promising mattress on a corner.

Brittany points to a table, though, and Santana obediently sits on it.

"Have I not fucked you well enough, Santana?" Brittany runs the palm of her hands on Santana's bare thighs. "Is that why you keep wasting your time with these other girls?"

"I'm n—"

"I'm not done talking," Brittany interrupts her harshly. Oh God, this is sexy. "I don't share, Santana."

She pinches Santana's nipples over her shirt and begins to place wet kisses on Santana's neck.

She takes Santana's shirt and bra off, her face still very calm. Santana's shivering, and her nipples are already hard.

"You have to make a choice," she says right before her mouth closes on Santana's nipple. She kisses it and sucks on it, teeth pulling, as her hand massages and scratches her other breast. She releases Santana's nipple with a wet pop. "It's either me or everyone else."

She changes sides and begins to do the exact same thing.

Santana sighs, diving her fingers in Brittany's soft hair. "You." Brittany's tongue circles her nipple slowly before she sucks on it, twisting the other nipple between her fingers. "Only you can fuck me."

Oh, she's going to say whatever it takes.

Brittany stops and smiles. "That's what I like to hear." She pushes Santana back to lay on the table and proceeds to work on her shorts.

It's a matter of seconds before Santana's naked on a table, and Brittany is still fully dressed.

She closes her eyes when Brittany's thumb touches her clit. She opens her legs some more, offering herself for the taken.

"I've been thinking," Brittany says, pressing circles on Santana's center. Santana lets out a breathy moan. "What I could do to make this better."

She stops and stares at Santana like she's a meal. "I've clearly not fucked you well enough if you're considering doing it with someone else."

She lowers her head and takes a long, slow lick that makes Santana's breath catch. She keeps doing it, too slow to bring any satisfaction, teasing Santana with her tongue, until her mouth closes on Santana's clit and sucks on it.

"Fuck, Britt," Santana gasps, her hips bucking.

Brittany's strong hands hold Santana's hips in place and she sucks harder, rhythmically, tongue drawing an eight around Santana's center.

She slows down as soon as Santana's thighs start to tremble and she's feeling the delicious buildup.

Santana whines. "Please, just let me—"

Brittany cleans her chin with the back of her hand. "I didn't say it was time for you to come."

"I had an idea." She makes Santana stand up in front of her. "You won't even think of someone else after this."

She pushes her pants to the floor and she's wearing a strap on.

A black strap on.

Sweet baby Jesus. Santana licks her lips.

"Like it?" She smirks, pulling Santana close. Santana nods. "Then get it wet."

Santana kneels on the floor. She strokes the black shaft first, noticing how Brittany groans whenever she moves it. "Does it goes…?"

"In and out," Brittany says, and it makes it even hotter.

Santana licks the tip before slowly taking as much as she can in her mouth. Brittany holds the back of her head gently, biting her own lip.

Santana bobs her head back and forth, lips enclosing around the shaft. She begins to stroke it as well, each time pulling and pushing it inside Brittany, who's got her eyes closed and is making the sexiest face Santana has ever seen.

Santana manages to get it fully in her mouth, locking her eyes with Brittany.

"Again." Brittany groans.

Santana obeys, pushing and pulling, enveloping her lips around it, until she can't take it and has to breathe for air.

"Put it back in your mouth." Brittany groans again when she does it. "Who knew you'd be so good at giving head."

Santana just smirks and continues to lick and suck.

She can't wait until it's inside.

—

Brittany places Santana's hands on the upper edge of the mattress. "You don't get to touch."

Oh God. This is going to be torture. "Okay," Santana answers, already spreading her legs.

Brittany strokes the shaft a few times, staring at Santana hungry and ready.

Brittany smiles at Santana's face. "So eager." She moves her waist so the shaft is running on Santana's folds in long and slow strokes, brushing her clit, her entrance, but never as much as Santana _needs_.

"Fuck, Britt." Santana says, grabbing the mattress a little harsher than necessary.

Brittany kisses her nipples, alternating between small bites and small licks, never ceasing to move her hips in time. She massages Santana's breasts, palms them, and squeezes them.

She stops and hovers above Santana, looking into her eyes. "Do you want this dick inside you, Santana? Do you want me to fuck you raw?"

Fuck. That woman deserves a Best Dirty Talk Award.

Santana nods.

Brittany enters her, inch by inch.

"Jesus," Santana breathes out, her arms tensing as her nails dig into the mattress.

Brittany pauses. "When I looked at you, I knew you needed a good fuck." She takes the dick out almost completely before shoving it in again forcefully.

Santana lets out a loud, shameless moan.

She's so full, so deliriously full.

"And I knew I wanted to fuck you senseless." Brittany thrusts again, hitting deep within Santana, building a strong pace.

Santana wants to touch Brittany, pulls her closer, sink her nail in her back and make sure she never, ever stops this glorious fucking.

Her arms are shaking.

"I said you don't get to touch." Brittany repeats, slamming into Santana a bit too angrily and groaning in her ear.

Santana's legs lock around Brittany's ass; and the dick seems to go deeper, hitting that pleasurable spot that makes her blood boil.

"Yes," Santana hisses, back arching into Brittany, completely surrounding to the feeling, to Brittany's body collapsing on top of her.

Brittany bites her ear, diving into her faster. "Can you hear how wet you are for me?"

"I am, oh God I am," Santana moans over and over, pleasure building until she can't stop it anymore, completely at Brittany's mercy. "Fuck, I'm going to come for you, Britt."

Her waist is moving up as Brittany's moving down, thrusting so deep, filling her so completely, their sweaty bodies rocking together in sync.

She won't last long like this.

"That's my girl," Brittany says, her voice low and sensual, as she pushes Santana's legs back, over her shoulder.

Her thumb presses down on Santana's clit hard and skilled as she slams into Santana rough and fast.

Santana chokes a moan, her legs locking as her comes hard and long, each wave reborn every time Brittany enters her, her arms aching with restraint when she gives up not touching and sinks her nails into Brittany's perfect biceps, pulling her close and screaming her name.

—

Fuck, she can't even spell her own name right now.

Brittany takes the harness off, whimpering like the sexy beast she is, before collapsing beside Santana.

"Wow." She says, breathless, and pulls Santana close.

She rests her head on Brittany's shoulder, her mouth dry and her legs wobbly. "Wow," she agrees, running the tip of her fingers over Brittany's sweaty, perfect body. "You're going to be the death of me."

"I hope so," Brittany says, letting out a sexy, raspy laugh.


	3. Faberry

**Important:** This is the Faberry side of the first installment; everything from Quinn's POV. Enjoy it!

* * *

**FABERRY**

She's not gay. Really.

She thinks of a lesbian cruise because Santana is either depressed watching Mexican soap operas or she's throwing herself in 16-hour shifts at work.

This has to stop.

Santana is a lioness with enough sexual energy to fuel Manhattan for days. A change of scenario would turn things around.

She opens an anonymous window on her chrome and searches for _lesbian cruise_.

—

There's one that leaves in two weeks.

She buys their most expensive suite and makes reservations.

She hasn't taken a vacation in three years, so she's granted these weeks off in a heartbeat.

She kindly informs Santana they're leaving for a cruise and she better buy a new bikini.

Santana says there's no way on Earth she's going, cruises are for lame old lesbians, she hates boats, she doesn't want to be stuck with Quinn for two whole weeks and she doesn't need this "kind of shit."

Quinn takes it, impassible.

They are going on a cruise, and Santana will like it.

Quinn's not gay, though.

—

She knows Santana like the palm of her hand.

It comes from becoming friends in preschool and learning how to read Santana inside out.

She tells Santana there's a bet and she tells Santana she'll be drunk and Santana dives right in.

She helps Santana pack and they go to their destination.

—

It's the kind of gorgeous, sunny day, and she's drunk.

Eight beers and she's laughing with Santana as they look around the deck.

So many women. Someone is going to have a field day. Quinn looks at Santana, happy to see those worried lines in her face softening, her eyes wide with surprise and appetite.

Santana disappears, leaving Quinn to take their luggage to the room, but Quinn doesn't mind.

Santana deserves this.

—

She really has no intention of hooking up with anyone.

She's just in for the ride, chilling on a deckchair and getting her tan on.

Santana's flirting with two women at the same time, and the two mojitos on Quinn's blood are making her sleepy.

A brunette appears by her side, her smile big and white, and offers Quinn a mojito. "Your drink was almost over, so I got you a refill."

She's crouching by Quinn's side, her arms on Quinn's armrest. Quinn looks at her: olive skin, long brown hair, jean shorts and a tank top insinuating a delicious body.

Quinn clears her throat and sits up a bit. "Thank you," she says, noticing how the brunette licks her lips in satisfaction.

"I'm Rachel," she says, not moving away. She smells like sunscreen and something sweet.

Wind blows her hair and it brushes on Quinn's arm. "I'm Quinn."

They're so close. "Won't your girlfriend be mad we're talking, Quinn?"

"She's not—" She points her thumb to Santana and laughs a little with the idea. "I'm single."

"I'm glad," Rachel says, sipping her own drink and sitting on Quinn's deckchair, by her legs.

—

The thing is that, when you're in a lesbian cruise, you can't really say you're straight.

It would be just absurd, so Quinn doesn't say it.

Her stomach is in knots. Rachel gives her a rush of adrenaline just by being there.

Rachel plays with Quinn's fingers as she makes small talk, and Quinn wants her to come closer.

Gosh, her mouth feels so dry. She sips her mojito a little faster than advisable, and Rachel laughs when Quinn chokes a little and coughs, her face going warm with embarrassment.

"Let me get that for you." Rachel's hand shots up, thumb cleaning the droplets of run on the corner of Quinn's lip.

Quinn feels like she's burning.

She holds Rachel's hand in place, locking their eyes, and palms Rachel's forearm slowly. She stops at Rachel's elbow to pull her close.

Rachel happily complies, crawling towards Quinn – it's sexier than it should be, damn – until their lips meet and she's straddling Quinn's lap.

—

Rachel's lips, they're something else.

Her fiancée had been hard and demanding, all teeth and bite, scratching her skin with his stubble.

Rachel, on the other hand… She's full lips enveloping Quinn's lower lip delicately, pulling it a bit, her soft hands holding Quinn's face.

Quinn sighs, wrapping an arm around her to pull her close. Rachel's tongue runs over Quinn's upper lip before she kisses it like she's in no rush.

Rachel arches into Quinn, pressing their bodies together gloriously under the sun, cotton against Quinn's skin. Rachel tilts her head and deepens the kiss wet and hot, her tongue entering Quinn's mouth and sliding against Quinn's tongue.

Quinn feels hot all over; when Rachel moans in her mouth it shoots straight to her core.

It's with the same slow and deliberate pace that Rachel begins a trail of kisses on Quinn's jaw, reaching the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

Quinn whimpers, helpless. Rachel smiles against her skin and draws a breath before her lips meet Quinn's neck again, between wet kisses and small bites.

Quinn's hands sneak under Rachel's shirt, marveling with Rachel's skin on her palm and the way her muscles answer to Quinn's soft scratching.

"You're a very good kisser, Quinn," Rachel says, almost a purr. She moves her leg so she's sitting on Quinn's lap, her right turned to Quinn.

Quinn wants to kiss her again.

—

She's not usually like this.

She doesn't hold girls in her arms and asks them about their life and has long and intense make out sessions.

It's not like she's gay.

Her lips are sore and sensitive, and Rachel looks even more tempting than before.

She runs a thumb on Rachel's cheek before she uses her hand to pull her in for another kiss. Rachel's lips part promptly to her tongue, and she moans when Quinn pulls her hair and explores her mouth thorough and slow.

"I think we should go somewhere else," Rachel says, her voice raspy and low, "so I can do things to you."

Quinn catches her breath, her lips brushing against Rachel's, and nods. "I think you'll like my room."

—

It's like Rachel owns the place.

She arrives and takes a casual look around, touching the furniture with the tip of her fingers as she passes by. She takes off her earrings, her necklace, her shoes, and leaves them on the bathroom sink.

Quinn watches and swallows dry.

Everything about Rachel is sexy.

"Take off your romper," Rachel says simply, leaning against the bathroom doorframe.

Undressing for Rachel is thrilling; Quinn feels hyperaware of everything. Her clothes falls on the floor.

"Lay down," Rachel says, moving towards the bed as well.

Quinn complies, and Rachel smirks at her obedience before lying on top of her.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Quinn says, tugging at Rachel's shirt.

Rachel kisses her languid and hot, running her hand over Quinn's clothed breast. "One thing at a time, love."

There's nothing to do but agree.

—

Of course she has slept with women.

She went to college, after all.

Maybe a few times after that, too.

—

Rachel moves at an excruciating pace.

She kisses Quinn collarbone, getting rid of Quinn's bikini top. She palms and cups Quinn's breasts, enclosing her perfect mouth around a nipple and sucking.

"S-shit," Quinn groans, her eyes closing because Rachel's tongue is doing something incredible and arousing and she's pulling Quinn's other nipple so hard it almost _hurts_.

Rachel smirks, staring right into Quinn's eyes as she lets go of one breast to proceed to the other.

Bitch is enjoying watching Quinn whimper and squirm.

She bites Quinn's breast, sucking the same spot afterwards. Quinn groans and scratches her back up to her shoulders, savoring the hiss Rachel makes.

Rachel turns Quinn on the bed. "No more marking," she says, beginning another path of long, tortuous kisses on Quinn's back.

Quinn's so wet already, _so_ wet.

She buries her face in the pillow, catching her breath when Rachel goes lower and takes off Quinn's bikini.

"Please," Quinn breathes, her back arching and her legs spreading. "Please, Rachel, I need—"

Rachel grabs a fistful of Quinn's long hair and pulls it towards her. "Fine, Quinn, let's have it your way," she says flatly, entering her with two fingers.

Quinn moans loud, spread on all fours, hanging on to the headboard for balance, head thrown back.

Rachel curls her finger the exact angle Quinn needs her to, and she starts a relentless pace of taking it all out and shoving it all in, hitting Quinn's spot like she was born to do it.

She pulls Quinn's hair until Quinn's back almost meets hers and Quinn has to place both hands high on the wall for support. "You like this, Quinn?"

Quinn whimpers loud and clear, eyes shut close and mouth hanging open. "Just like– just that, God—"

Rachel wraps an arm around Quinn, her front meeting Quinn's sweaty back. "I think you want more," she groans, adding a third finger.

Quinn moans Rachel's name again and again, panting because she can't take it, she can't possibly take this, her entire body electric and shaking.

"Touch yourself," Rachel orders and Quinn eagerly obliges, her thighs tensing when she reaches her clit the first time.

Quinn's almost screaming now; she can't stop herself, not when she's almost there, her muscles contracted, her entire body aching and glistening with sweat.

She touches herself with a frenetic pace, rubbing her clit just the right way, until she's coming hard around Rachel's fingers, clenching around them, cursing and moaning Rachel's name.

She collapses on the bed, eyes closed, and she smiles when Rachel snuggles by her side and kisses her shoulder.

Rachel kisses her lips softly. "Had you ever had roommates?"

Quinn frowns, not sure what this is about.

"You're loud, love." She makes a sexy face. "Really loud."

Quinn laughs and pulls Rachel closer. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rachel makes this delicious amused face, and Quinn has to kiss her.


	4. Apologies

**Important:** Brittana chapter.

This is it for the moment. I'd suggest you subscribe! And maybe drop me an ask with a kinky prompt for this verse. ;)

* * *

**APOLOGY**

She hits the gym with Quinn in the morning.

They run side by side, subtly competing. Quinn's as tired as Santana, thankfully, so the both of them try to spare themselves.

Quinn's got that buzz – one that she desperately needs to tap into more often – that comes from a glorious night of intense fucking. She's got bite marks on her shoulders and a hickey on her neck.

Whoever that bitch was, she had done a nice job of marking Quinn as property.

—

There's this Latina girl that keeps staring at Santana during boxing class. Santana makes sure her jabs are extra strong and her groans are extra sexy.

The girl comes to her when they're at the lockers and she's only wearing gym shorts and a sports bra and there's sweat dripping on her mean, lean stomach and Santana loves it.

They have lunch together. They go to Santana's cabin.

The girl is not half as good as Brittany, but she's more than happy to submit and let Santana fuck her into oblivion, and Santana manages to get an orgasm out of it, so she supposes it's good enough.

She didn't really mean it when she said she'd be exclusive with Brittany. That was just sexy talk, right?

—

She takes a nap and leaves the boat with Quinn because it's fucking Guatemala.

They don't buy no excursion packages because packages are for lame people. They've got a map of the best attractions, they've got the bars pinned to it, and they've got six hours.

They're almost sober by now; Santana can feel the dizziness in her brain dissipating, her gestures sharper and sharper. They dive into regional beer, trying every possible brand.

It turns out Guatemala has 10 local brands.

They get right back to their blissful state of bliss.

—

She misses Brittany.

Brittany used to be everywhere at all times, part of every fun activity, but now she isn't anywhere to be seen.

Santana still hasn't given Brittany the gift.

—

It's midnight and she's getting real tired of this shit.

Real tired.

Brittany just isn't there, and she's getting all kinds of horny.

When she finds Tina she gives her 50 bucks and gets her to communicate with Brittany. Apparently it's her night off. She hesitates a long moment before telling Tina over the radio where she is.

Is Brittany avoiding Santana?

Had Brittany _seen_ anything?

Fuck.

—

Brittany's drinking a beer in an empty outer area.

Looking around, Santana wonders how Brittany finds those places.

Brittany's wearing a short summer dress, and Santana's eyes linger on those strong, long legs. She licks her lips, imagining how easy would it be to lift that dress and—

"Cat got your tongue?" Brittany asks, not turning around.

Santana decides she's got to be brave and walk over to Brittany. "Just admiring the view," she says, placing a hand on Brittany's waist and pressing into her from behind.

Brittany smells so _good_. Santana breathes in her neck, absorbing Brittany's scent with a hum of appreciation.

Brittany turns around and sips her beer, a satisfied smug on her face.

Santana wants to kiss it off her.

"I bought you something when I was in Mexico," she says, showing a jewelry box on her hand.

Brittany opens it and examines the silver necklace in silence. Santana tries to kiss her, but Brittany shakes her head no.

"The thing is," she says, running a hand through Santana's thick black hair, "I don't do other people's leftovers."

Shit.

Santana presses their hips together and locks their eyes. "Britt, I—"

Brittany runs her thumb on Santana's lips. "We can't play anymore."

She goes back to sipping her beer.

Fucking ball of fuck.

—

It's time for drastic actions.

Santana kneels on the ground. "I'll do anything."

There's the trace of a smirk on Brittany's lips. This is good. Santana runs her hands on Brittany's long, firm legs, never breaking eye contact. "Let me make it up to you."

Santana kisses Brittany's knees, making a wet path upwards. "I'm going to be such a good girl, Britt. I promise."

Brittany's sigh when Santana kisses her inner thigh is unmistakable.

Santana smiles when Brittany parts her legs.

God, Brittany is so hot.

Santana pushes Brittany's dress upwards and begins a whole other treatment of biting and kissing and sucking Brittany's thigh, inch by inch.

Brittany doesn't complain when Santana tugs her underwear down and takes it off.

Fuck, Brittany already smells like sex. Santana blows some air over Brittany's arousal, earning a deep groan and a strong tug of her hair.

"No teasing," Brittany says in that serious, sexy tone of hers.

Santana nods and takes a first long lick over Brittany's folds. She groans at the taste and takes another hungry lick, and then another, drinking everything she can.

Brittany throws her head back and closes her eyes. "Just like that."

When she starts fucking Brittany with her tongue, Brittany's hips buck and she makes the sexiest moan Santana has ever heard.

She grabs Brittany's hip to steady her movements and finds a new angle to reach deeper, licking faster.

She waits until Brittany's already panting and her jaw is starting to ache to change positions and finally reach Brittany's clit.

"Fuck, San—" Brittany gasps, breathless, when Santana's lips encircle her clit and she sucks long and hard. Santana smirks and does it again, pressing the tip of her tongue against it, until Brittany's thighs are trembling and Brittany's grabbing her hair and moaning her name.

—

She stands up and cleans her face with the back of her hand.

Brittany covers her eyes with one hand, a delicious smile on her face as she recovers.

"Am I forgiven?" Santana asks, kissing Brittany's neck.

She's throbbing already, too aroused from Brittany's gasps and moans.

"Maybe," Brittany breathes out, holding on to Santana's shoulder.

Oh yeah. Santana's back in the game, baby.

Brittany's radio buzzes. She stretches her arm and grabs it. Santana frowns at the interruption.

This is time to get her swag on, not to talk on the radio.

"I've got to go." Brittany smiles, too amused at Santana's face. "Something came up."

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. "Wait a minute."

"Maybe, if you're good, we can pick up where we stopped." Brittany says, grabbing her things. "Maybe tomorrow."

With that, she leaves.

Santana curses under her breath.

Not cool.

You just don't leave a brother hanging.

—

She barely sleeps that night, thighs pressing together in arousal, dreams filled with Brittany.

She hits the gym to blow off some steam, but she doesn't flirt with anyone this time. She looks straight ahead as she runs as fast as she can, lifts as much weight as she can, and boxes as much as she can.

She has lunch with Quinn, who manages to escape out her love fest for a while and looks too satisfied with her fucking self, and she doesn't acknowledge the existence of other women.

—

She doesn't even leave the boat.

Fuck Honduras.

—

Brittany organizing some pool games, and Santana stays there, stretched under the sun, sipping one mojito after the other, watching.

She adjusts her gigantic sunglasses and stares at Brittany for a long time, imagining all kinds of scenarios.

Making out with Brittany right there, on a deckchair. The both of them at the pool, Brittany buried deep inside her. Riding Brittany's dildo on the veranda. On all fours at the sauna as Brittany fucks her from behind.

Jesus Christ, she is so horny she might die.

—

There's a cowboy party and Brittany's dressed as a cowgirl. Jean shorts, boots, flannel shirt with generous cleavage.

Santana sighs in desperation.

Fuck her life.

Quinn laughs at her face, taking her to the dance floor.

She doesn't want to dance. She wants intense, glorious fucking to leave her sore for days.

Fuck Pitbull. Fuck Ke$ha, too.

—

She notices Brittany has stepped into the bar and immediately decides she needs a refill.

Brittany is wearing the silver necklace. Santana beams.

She asks Brittany for three shots of tequila and a beer. When she downs the first shot and takes the drinks back to Quinn and her love bunny, she notices there's something written on her napkin.

_See you later._

Santana smiles like she's just won the motherfucking lottery.

—

It's late, and the party is already coming to an end.

Quinn is exercising her bedroom rights.

Santana sips her beer and waits.

Brittany finally, finally shows up. Santana doesn't need to be told to follow.

She's still wearing those boots.

Santana bites her lip in anticipation.

—

She takes Santana to the same room of their glorious strap on fucking.

She closes the door behind Santana and points to a table.

Santana stands in front of it, her back to Brittany; Brittany soon follows, the tip of her fingers caressing Santana's arm slowly. "Have you followed the rules, Santana?"

God, even the way she says Santana's name makes her wet.

"I've been good," Santana says, closing her eyes and pressing her back to Brittany's front.

"That's my girl," Brittany says, nibbling on Santana's earlobe. "Mine," she whispers, pressing her hips forward.

"Yours," Santana breathes out, biting her lip with the table's pressure against her.

Brittany's palm presses Santana's back until she's bending down, ass in the air.

"I love your dresses," she says, pushing Santana's dress upwards and grabbing her buttocks.

Santana thanks the pagan gods for deciding not to wear any underwear.

Brittany cups her from behind and she whimpers. "I love when you dance," she says, squeezing softly.

Santana bites back a moan and holds her breath.

"I thought about you all day." Brittany says, low and sultry, as she enters Santana with just one finger.

It's not nearly what Santana needs.

She begins to move her finger in and out. "Maybe I shouldn't let you come, so you learn a lesson." Santana whimpers again, spreading her legs further apart.

"But you're so delicious," Brittany continues, adding another finger and thrusting hard inside.

Santana hisses a yes in complete surrender, groaning when Brittany follows a hard pace. God. This is exactly what she needs, tight against Brittany's fingers, the sound of her own wetness every time Brittany enters.

Brittany curls her fingers and presses her hips forward – it's the perfect angle for her clit to brush against the table when Brittany thrusts, and Santana has to hold on to the edge of the table to keep herself in place.

Brittany uses her hips to push even harder, and it's just what Santana needs to build her own orgasm in small waves, her stomach tightening in anticipation, each bump to her clit, Brittany curling her fingers inside, and she can't take it anymore—

She comes hard on Brittany's hand, long and intense.

—

She looks over her shoulder and Brittany's licking her fingers.

Licking her fingers.

Oh shit.

As soon as Santana turns around, Brittany's climbing on top of her, the roughness of her jeans against Santana's exposed sex.

She kisses Santana wet and languid, Santana's own sharp taste melting on her tongue.

Fuck, this is sexy. Santana wraps her legs around Brittany's ass, pulling them flush against each other.

"I hope you're not tired," Brittany says, rubbing herself against Santana.

Santana strangles a moan in the back of her throat.

"Don't worry, Britt." She unclasps Brittany's belt hastily, working on her zipper as she bites Brittany's lower lip. "You're not getting out of here anytime soon."


End file.
